Disclaimer: I obviously don't own any CI movie related characters and such.
Date written: January - October 2006
Hello, everyone! It has now been 8 or so years since I first signed up here and created Alea Iacta Est. I have been getting private messages from some very nice readers who sometimes ask me to update and sometimes they ask me where the sequel to AIE went. I am very sorry to say that in a fit of craziness and displeasure at my own work (I was very young and temperamental back then), I deleted BGA and it has now gone into heaven.
I hadn't realized that so many people still wondered about what had happened to Kathryn, Sebastian, Mathieu, Belinda, and Nikolai and I just deleted it because I remember being very frustrated about the story. I apologize very much and in order to somehow make up for this douchebag move, here is a story I'd written and subsequently deleted under a different account.
Some of you will find this story familiar. Some of you may have already read it and you may not have known that it was also from me. For some of you, it will still be very new. Either way, should you decide to read it, I hope you will like it. Each chapter is insanely long (3000+ words!), and I'll try and clean it up a bit before posting. I am very busy with work now, so sometimes I will post a new chapter and sometimes I will try and post more. Either way, this story is finished so don't worry. I also won't delete it anymore. Hahaha
Thank you to those amazing readers who still send me messages despite the fact that I have been inactive for a while. It is nice to hear from you all!
Also, I would very much like to thank oneamsoundstage for providing me with a copy of this story. When I deleted this back then, I also did not keep a copy of this and am now very glad that she was kind enough to save this from being sent to heaven. Let us all thank her for being kind enough to help me resurrect this story. She may or may not have gone all "Don't delete this again, %$#&*." on me. It's okay that's how she usually talks. Hahahaha
An Unlikely Story
One
The sunlight snarls upon me with its cheery disposition and blinding yellow light as it pierces through my closed lids. Even though it was quite apparent that it was yet another signal for me to begin another tedious day, I refuse to open my eyes. I'm quite contented with lying down in my bed, thank you very much.
"Sebastian," I stir, turning at the sound of the voice and wondering what the fuck Kathryn was doing in my bed when I hadn't seen nor spoken to her since Annette died. Certain that this must be one of those ridiculously impossible hangovers; I give an imperceptible groan and shift on my side, towards the voice. My hand reaches out to reclaim the empty space on my blue and white mattress when to my chagrin; it lands on a smooth, curvy body that was most definitely a woman's.
My eyes shoot open and I find myself staring at the back of her head, its dark curtain of tresses tickling her backside. What was Kathryn doing with black hair? Why was it longer? Why did she look different? Nevertheless, I remain undaunted by these thoughts. In my newly awoken mind (a somewhat tabula rasa especially after a particularly hard night of partying with my stepsister), these musings weren't important. I didn't remember what had happened the other night, and frankly enough, I didn't care. If Kathryn Merteuil was lying beside me, muttering my name like a soft prayer, I didn't care at all.
But my rational mind tells me that I should care, that I should place my hand on her back and push her off the bed instead of attempting to bring her closer to me. As my rational mind takes a few minutes to reacquaint itself with my usual standoffish attitude, I let myself indulge in a little morning uncharacteristic affection with her. I let myself forget.
The moment of forgetting never lasts long though. I never let myself get lost in it that much. I didn't deserve it.
Why was I supposed to hate her?
Oh yes, she killed my girlfriend. She was a murderer, a traitor. The serpent from the Garden of Eden disguised in the form of a beautiful, vicious woman who tempted innocent Annette Hargrove and made her pay the price for something she knew nothing about.
The woman I considered to be her moves slightly under my touch.
"Good morning." murmurs a sweet voice laced with weariness as well and suddenly I freeze.
The fog clears itself from my hungover mind and I jerk up to process my surroundings, seeming to realize for what seemed like the first time that I wasn't in my room. At least, not the one in New York. The walls are different, the ornate mahogany desk that had been my usual place when I wrote in my journal was gone, and even the silk sheets wrapped around my legs were different.
I am in Monte Carlo.
This is not Kathryn.
And that's when everything comes rushing back. The bet. Annette. Kathryn. Finding fulfillment in a new life with the former only to have to latter come in and ruin it by making me love her again. Not always, but again. My mind becomes a video player gone haywire, planting random memories in my head as if chastising me for my lack of memory.
"I love you, Sebastian." Annette's peaceful smile bordering on dreamy. Her fierce opinions, her kind heart, her blonde hair, her blue eyes.
Then it shifts to a slightly twisted memory that had probably started it all.
"Well, I'm not sleeping in that room!" Kathryn screamed, looking every inch of the spoiled princess brat that she was. Her heels clicked around the room while she paced back and forth, her face hard and embittered and her mouth turned down. "Have some compassion, Valmont, my room's fucking flooded. If I slept there now, you'd see my dead, drowned body floating inside the next day."
I smirked, "Do you swear it? Because I'm going to set my alarm clock to go off next week, giving the water ample time to rush through your rather talented mouth and ultimately kill you."
"You have no idea how talented my mouth is." she returned snidely, somehow the snarky response has become our tradition over the years. "And you'll never have the chance to know exactly, especially if you refuse to let me sleep on your bed."
My eyebrows rose.
Her sharp gaze caught the change in my expression and she glared at me, "Oh, shut up. Look, I don't like the idea either, but the fact of the matter is, this house is too small. If there are actually rooms available, it's covered with blankets and a thin layer of dust. Now, my next option would be to sleep on the couch in the living room and had my stupid mother not forgotten the fact that we would be arriving in this stupid Hamptons house two days ahead of her and your fornicating father, then maybe she wouldn't have had the servants arrive the same day they did!"
"The couches seemed quite comfortable." I commented, leaning back against the bed and smirking at her.
"Yes, they are. Which is exactly why you'll be a complete gentleman and let me sleep on your bed while you slumber peacefully on the couch."
"Like hell I am!"
"Okay, look." she huffed, striding across the room and plopping her petite body on the other side of the bed before I could protest. "Here's the truth. Ever since you've decided to diddle Ms. Mary Poppins and remain infuriatingly loyal to her, I've lost my interest in you."
My expression darkened and shade before I could think, and she immediately saw it, sneering a bit.
"I don't like this either, but I'm going to have to sleep on your bed tonight." She rolled her eyes, grabbing the largest pillow and using it as a divider. "And since you're the poster boy for rudeness and insensitivity, you're going to either get off or you're going to stop being such a whiny bitching fag and just sleep. Newsflash, Valmont. I'm not going to try and seduce you simply because you've proven the fact that, from your role as the hot ill reputed player of Manchester Prep to pussywhipped clichéd reformed bad boy saved by a virginal hick, you're simply not worth the trouble."
"Only because you know you'll never have me." I shot back, glaring at the pillow that obscured her upper body.
"Au contraire, dear brother." she snapped without bothering to turn around. "It's you who'll never have me."
"That's because I don't want you anymore."
"Glad to know." she replied sarcastically, "Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep."
And again, it stops right there into something that has both been the component of my dreams and nightmares.
An imperfect weekend comprised of a single perfect day. Brown hair and guilt, skin on skin, sinning and sex.
"You're leaving me! The least you could do is give me a damn reason!"
"I already told you why. I'm not-I thought I was ready for a commitment..."
I feel the sharp sting of a slap as if her ghost had stood throughout the entire night and watched me fuck the woman beside me and was now letting me feel her wrath, it wakes me up completely and the woman beside me turns around.
Her dark blue eyes cloud over for a moment before peering curiously at me, her lips were parted open and raven hair falling across a bare breast. Then I jerk my hand off of her, this wasn't part of our arrangement.
This wasn't part of the rules.
I blink again, slowly at first, then with increasing rapidity for the next couple of seconds, realizing the oddity of the situation. There's a certain degree of parallelism to be found in this situation, the woman beside me was my new stepsister, only a year younger than me (although it's nearly impossible to tell when she's got her hands down my pants). Amanda St. Claire, a seventeen year old gorgeous young woman that had her predecessor's (when it came to my stepsiblings of the past, (and if you knew my father, you wouldn't be bothered by this idea because it's the kind of man he is)) cold sense of detachment, some of her cunning, and perhaps a smidgen of her charm.
She stares at me for a couple of minutes before I realize that she was waiting for an answer.
"Morning, Amanda."
For a moment I wonder if she sees through me. I wonder if she views the memories through my eyes, like watching a television show of my past. I do the same to her, although I already know her story. Her ghostly pale skin stands in contrast to the darkness of her hair, the blues of her irises, and the soft pinkness of her perfect little nipples that seemed to beg for attention the way she secretly did.
The moment she feels me scrutinizing her, she averts her gaze. We speak not of emotions of our past, of lost chances and hidden anguish simply because we both believe that it would color us weak. Amanda had her own demons to battle, her own emotions to compress into a box that she hopes would grow smaller and smaller with every drug she snorts and every man she fucks until it completely disappears.
Amanda loved someone once. Not the needy kind of love, not the one for convenience or power. I don't fully know the details of everything as it had only been a year since we became legally related. All I knew was that for all her wealth, beauty and accomplishments, she was as hollow as they go. It made sense that we would continually fuck whenever our parents weren't around, whenever she slipped into my room or I in hers, there would be no terms of endearment or such bullshit.
There were no false promises of commitment since we both knew neither of us were capable of such a thing. No, with her, sex was sex. It was fucking, it wasn't about the romantic way of making love or consuming lust, it was about hating the past and living with it. It was about taking out all your aggressions and turning into passion, because in essence, isn't that where it all began? My relationship with Amanda was about having someone fill you up until the numbness goes away for a while. And when I was with her and every other woman I chose to bed, it did.
It did. It went away.
But the fucked up thing about it is, I wake up wanting her. I wake up wishing the woman beside me had dark brown hair and piercing emerald eyes. Then I turn to my other side and see a corpse.
And everything starts all over again.
When my father divorced Tiffany to marry Beatrice St. Clair, I took it as a chance to get away from the Merteuils. I had already graduated from Manchester Prep and was all set to go to Harvard with Kathryn, we both planned for this. It was our future, she had said while she laid against me, her body slightly warm and her breath raising the temperature to my skin. It had been just a few weeks shy of leaving high school, and we'd acquiesced to spending almost every night together.
Yes, I know what you're thinking. How incredibly uncharacteristic of us, the player and the bitch planning their future together as if nothing else mattered. How out of character, how out of place we both were with each other. Well, fuck you. When I had been with her, all the wrongs that built up with every piece of clothing shed, with every immoral kiss, every illegal tryst, every look, touch, kiss, and all that stood in between, everything became rationalized into our own version of truth.
Even the fact that I had a girlfriend, the very same one who'd managed to dig up my conscience. And Annette Hargrove did dig deep. Let me tell you about her and about how she managed to incite so much remorse from me. No, it's not going to be something foolishly sentimental and all that drivel. But then again, that's what you probably expected to hear, right?
Before you go all nauseous, let me clarify a couple of things. First of which is that I loved her. There. I said it. I loved Annette Hargrove. I first preyed on her innocence and then reveled upon it, she was, in a matter of speaking, my Présidente de Tourvel as I was the Vicomte that had fallen prey into that ludicrous trap. I thought I had seen everything there was to see in life, and then there it was.
The lighter side of things, the only other female to have resisted me. I'm not going to lie to you; I had been ready to leave Kathryn for her because I had been so convinced at that moment that this was the only way to keep me from dropping into the pitfalls of a meaningless life.
But Kathryn, of all people, changed that.
"I'll see you at the party tonight?" said the female (my newest stepsister) about to head for the door, a single white sheet wrapped around her body.
I nod and smile at her, indulging in her airy persona. A high school senior at one of the most prestigious prep schools, Amanda was (what a shocker) the most sought after girl and undoubtedly the most hated as well. Like Kathryn, she backstabbed and clawed her way to the top and stayed there smiling and nodding pleasantly while she was at it.
Though you might think that I'm simply trying to replace my former stepsister, it isn't entirely the case. Amanda St. Clair and Kathryn Merteuil, though similar in a way, are completely different people. It was tantamount to comparing two shades of color that might look the same but in reality aren't.
"I'll bring a date." I smirk and she rolls her eyes, never appearing possessive of me. She knows me, she knows that while I may not look like it when we're in bed, I do have my limits.
"So will I." Amanda replies, smirking back.
And I lean back grabbing my notebook thoughtfully before opening to a random page. For a minute I indulge in a little light reading, pausing thoughtfully to scan the first few sentences when my eyes darken.
Perhaps I have assumed too much, too soon. I don't know what it is that's changed, but somehow everything seems different. That one night with Kathryn would have been a great triumph, if not the greatest (topping even Annette), and I should have left it at that. Conquering Mt. Everest should be a one time thing, because too much can burn you out easily. I find that my life has become a shallow pool of debauchery and deceit, and I intended to look for something more substantial. That's what I have with Annette, a relationship with no games, no mindfucks and no mockery. I should be contented (at least to a certain degree because after all, this is what I left my old life for, right?), but I'm not.
I have bitten the poisoned apple Eve has offered and I want the whole fucking thing.
I flip again, the pages turning faster until my scrawls are gibberish at first sight. Then I'm done. I can't read it anymore, I close it and shut my eyes, letting the well worn companion of mine lie dormant beside me while I allow myself the darkness of sleep.
-0-0-0-
Hours later and after a couple of quick fucks with those insipid airhead bimbos, I down my fourth scotch and spot Amanda a couple of feet away. Her eyes (the color of the ocean when a storm is brewing) flash animatedly and she places a hand on her date's wrist. I hide a smile behind my glass and she catches it, while her date paused to charm Beatrice St. Clair (although now St. Clair-Valmont), she takes a quick look around to give me the finger and I jerk my head slightly, motioning for her to come over.
The truth was, she's the only person in these exorbitantly done charity events worth talking to. Amanda and I understand in each other. We both know our own stories and weaknesses that we'd rather keep between ourselves. Sometimes I think if she wasn't there I would have fucked God knows how many women just to make me forget.
Amanda nods slightly and gives another polite smile (which roughly translated to "Fuck you, you stupid moron.") to the adoring company and strides over to me, planting a sisterly kiss on my cheek before ordering a glass of vodka from the bartender.
"Strong stuff." I comment, glancing over at her and watching in fascination as the ice makes a slight tinkling sound while she slowly spins the glass into a small circle.
"Have you seen this party?" the raven haired girl that was to be the object of lust at the party answered, drinking it in one easy gulp (and making it look quite graceful, which leads me to another assumption: There's a lot of Kathryn in this young woman.) "I need it."
My mouth turns up into a smile and I say nothing, we remain silent for a while, preferring to observe the crowd and mocking them when she starts talking again.
"So where's your date tonight, my darling stepbrother?"
"Left her." I shrugged, "Will you be my date?"
She clucks her tongue, her dark eyebrows slowly knitting together. As she places her glass down, she touches my wrist and I see a gleam in her eyes.
"Now what would it look like if I started kissing you all of a sudden?" she asks, laughing at my offhanded comment. "No, I'm going to find you a date to screw tonight, because I for one would hate to see you all alone in bed while I get my brains fucked out by a very experienced Anthony."
"Good luck." I mutter, not really taking her seriously. I discreetly glance at my watch before picking up my refilled drink. The alcohol was already getting to me, and all I was thinking about was getting some sleep.
After today's many excursions, I wasn't really in the mood for sex.
"There." Amanda points to a tall, lithe woman with legs that never ended. I recognized her as some supermodel but quickly rejected the notion.
"She's gay."
Her eyebrows shoot up, "Are you serious?"
"I saw her eating out Jacklyn Foster while I was looking for a room earlier."
"So that's why she always talked to me during these functions..." Undeterred, her determined eyes scan the crowd while I pay more attention to the idea of my bed and sleep. She was obviously trying to get me someone suitable, and then she gives a sharp inhalation when she notices someone from the entrance.
"There." she says, satisfied. "She's really pretty. Although I've never seen her before."
"Give it up, Amanda." I sigh; more contented with staring at the amber liquid swirling around the glass than to avert my gaze to the woman she was looking at.
"Oh, she's looking here." Amanda smiles that smile of hers, the one that graces the students of her school whenever she wants something and gets it. Placing a hand on my shoulder, she drops her mask for a moment or two and speaks.
"Come on, Sebastian. Let's forget for a while." she murmurs, her voice echoing the sadness and anger we both felt. "Sometimes this is the only way."
My resolve melts at her tone, it was earnest and understanding. It was full of comprehension for someone her age even though I was only a year or two older than her, I felt centuries old sometimes. I think it's because I saw too much of life in such a short period of time that I easily got tired. Finally deciding to humor her and show my appreciation for her good intentions, I glance at her as she pulls away and I smile back. When she sees my mouth curve and my teeth show, she knows that it doesn't reach my eyes.
But then again, her smile was the same.
"Good." she whispers, "Because she's looking at you right now."
I smirk and tip my drink into my mouth, hoping for one last fuel of alcohol before I screw the said woman into oblivion. My eyes follow Amanda's until it stops.
And time stops.
My hand stops from tipping my drink down my throat.
(Yet I remain parched for it even more now.)
My eyes don't blink.
(I hunger for a sight I haven't seen in a while.)
Amanda doesn't notice that I've stopped moving and continues to talk, yet her voice is now distant in my ears.
"In fact, I don't think she's even invited in here. Probably a gatecrasher or a social climber of some sort.
But she's certainly beautiful, I love her hair, it's such a lovely shade of brown." she muses to herself while all thoughts from my head fled.
And time suddenly begins again, but this time it's in a slower pace.
My fingers had been gripping the glass so tightly it's a wonder I didn't break it. Now my grip has slackened and the cold liquid that was to be my ticket to a long and dreamless sleep splatters on my shoes while the glass breaks and ice melts on the wooden floor. Amanda gives a small shriek of surprise, but I don't hear her.
I've gone deaf and so very still at the sight of Kathryn Merteuil.
A/N: Just because it has been ages since I wrote here. Thank you all again!